Between a Rock and a Hard Place
by Liz Hollow
Summary: If you had a chance to do everything over, would you? Steven/May


_If you had a chance to do everything over, would you?_

**Between a Rock and a Hard Place**

I quit.

I gave up, against the advice of everyone I had ever met. They just didn't understand that there was no reason for me to care anymore. Why bother? No one else seemed to care, so why should I? It was easier—simpler—for me to just quit and go on living my life like none of this ever happened. Like Wally never happened.

My mom and dad told me it was normal to feel angry and confused, but I shouldn't have cut everyone off like I did. They didn't have a clue. I wasn't angry with them, and I certainly wasn't confused. I knew why it happened. And it hadn't been anyone's fault but my own that Wally had died. The only person I was angry with was myself.

He wouldn't have died if it hadn't been for me. They told me that he'd been healthier—_happier _—because of me, but I didn't believe it. I could see it in their eyes at the funeral when they looked at me. If I hadn't encouraged him to battle, if I had just told him to stay in Verdanturf, then he would have been fine.

So, I ran, going and going until I was gone. Going and going until no one would remember my name.

* * *

"How can I help you?" I asked, not really caring how I could help the man who sat down at the bar, but I did a pretty good job of faking concern. It wasn't like I had much else to do—scrub down the tabletops, maybe, but that was about it. The night would go by a lot faster if I was "open and inviting", as my manager told me.

"Open and inviting", my ass. The only reason I still had this job was because I hadn't managed to kill anyone yet, and that was impressive to management.

Hey, this bar was pretty shitty. They kept their expectations low in Kanto.

Still, when the middle-age man who needed to shed more than just a few pounds smiled at me, I knew it didn't matter whether I was open and inviting or not. The only thing that mattered to him was the amount of cleavage I showed and how nice I looked when I bent down to pick up stray shot glasses.

Normally, I was completely against using my feminine wiles on middle-aged drunks who were missing half their teeth. But I was a month behind on rent and really needed these tips. So what if I bent down a little more often than usual and pulled down my shirt just an inch lower? I wasn't hurting anyone. Sue me.

"You get lovelier and lovelier every time I see you, April."

Even though it had been six years since I abandoned my real name, it still took me a second or two to realize people were talking to me when they called me _April_. Okay, yeah, it was a stupid name. But I had been sixteen when I came over here, and I couldn't think of anything other than another month for a name. And I wasn't going to stick with _May_. No way.

When I finally realized that someone was talking to me, I turned, giving my hair a little flip just because I still needed some good tips. But when I saw Liam, one of the trainers from Brock's gym here in Pewter City, I didn't even bother suppressing a groan. I would take middle-aged drunks any day over Liam.

He laughed, placing one elbow on the bar and pointing a finger at me. "Aw, not happy to see me?"

I tugged my shirt back up and put my hands on my hips. "No. Now what do you want?"

"Oh, you know what I want, April." Liam sighed, shaking his head so theatrically that I couldn't keep from rolling my eyes. I did, however, know what he wanted. And it wasn't tequila. "You always seem so down in the dumps, and I know why. You wouldn't be nearly so miserable if you went out with me. You're a young woman… a date would do you well."

"As much as I appreciate your concern for my well-being, in spite of your sexist assumption that my happiest is tied to my love life… my answer is still no," I said curtly, and Liam made a stupid pouty face that he always made whenever I turned him down. "You can either order something or leave. I have customers to tend to."

I knew he would order something; he always did. And he always left me a generous tip that I didn't at all deserve considering how rude I was to him. He just got on my nerves—maybe because he reminded me of Brendan, and I wanted no reminders of anyone from my past in Hoenn.

"Oy," Liam said, his cheeks stuffed with his food. He even waved his fork around, sending mashed potatoes flying towards me. I lifted a rag to block the shot—not that Liam seemed to notice. "Did you hear? We've got a Champion coming to Pewter tomorrow. Apparently he was down in Saffron last week, and he's making his way over here to check out the museum."

Little did Liam know that he had a Champion in his presence right now. I had been a hotshot trainer back in Hoenn, but that was one of the things I had given up when I left. Battling only reminded me of… well, of Wally, and what I did to him. I gave all of my Pokémon away to whoever wanted them—and who _didn't_ want the Champion's Pokémon?

I should have felt something. I should have felt _bad_ when I gave away my Pokémon, but I didn't. I didn't feel anything anymore.

"Red?" I asked, throwing my rag into the bucket of murky water beside the dishwasher. I picked up the bucket and lifted it onto the counter, squeezing the rag out and wiping it along the bar.

"Nah." Liam swallowed. "Steven Stone."

The bucket of water went right onto Liam's plate. I didn't even know how it happened. One minute I was wiping down the counter, and the next minute, I knocked the bucket right towards Liam. It hadn't even been intentional.

Liam shot up from his seat, staring down at himself in horror. The water had overflowed from his plate and was now dripping down the bar like a waterfall, and that waterfall had done quite a bit of damage to Liam's pants. Had the situation been different, I would have loved this—it wasn't every day I got to see Liam looking like he had pissed himself.

But this wasn't funny. Not at all.

"I'm sorry," I said, turning around and running out from under the bar. I heard Liam shouting my name—April's name—as I ran out of the restaurant, but I didn't stop. I kept going and going, just like last time.

* * *

I didn't run as far this time. I felt a little bit better by the time I made it back to my apartment. I seriously thought I might puke on the way back, but I managed to keep my lunch. That was more than I could say for my job—I probably wouldn't have that when I showed up tomorrow. At least I grabbed my tips before I left.

Steven Stone… I hadn't seen him in… well, in six years. Since I left. If I ran into him here… well, that would just ruin everything. That would just…

So much for managing to keep my lunch.

I sat there scrubbing my floor for longer than I needed to, just pushing my brush back and forth despite having cleaned up the mess I made minutes ago. It was surprisingly therapeutic. If only I had known that back at the bar…

At least Liam wouldn't be a problem anymore.

Steven, on the other hand, was the problem. But one that was easily avoidable. Now that I didn't have a job anymore, I would just have to stay in my apartment for as long as he was here. It was too bad I didn't know how long he would be in Pewter. And it was too bad that they had shut off my heat.

I just… I just couldn't face him.

When my phone rang, I jumped so high that I knocked over the bucket of water I had been using to clean up my mess. Damn buckets…

I scrambled to my feet, running over to my bed and answering the phone. "Hello?"

"April?"

Shit. That would be my manager.

"April, what did you just do? Why did you just run off like that?" my manager demanded, but she continued before I had a chance to say anything. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you on probation. The only reason I'm not firing you is because I don't have another bartender willing to cover happy hour, so you better be thankful. If you don't show up tomorrow, your job _will_ be terminated."

She hung up before I could get another word in. But, hey… that had gone pretty swell without me. I probably wouldn't have a job if I _had_ gotten the chance to speak.

Of course, that screwed up my plans for tomorrow. I wouldn't be able to hide in my apartment if I needed to be at work from four to close. Still, it would be fine. Steven had to be here on business—there was no other reason he would be in town. And he didn't really seem like the type of guy who went to bars on business trips hoping to hook up with whatever girl was drunk enough to go home with him.

At least… I didn't think he was.

I managed to convince myself that I would be fine. It was too bad that I wasn't.

* * *

"I expect you to stick around this time," my manager told me when I arrived the next day. Funny. Everyone always expected me to stick around, and I always failed to please them. I ran away from home, I ran away from work, and chances were I would run away from something else someday. Who knew where I would end up next?

But I stayed where I was like a good girl, leaning against the bar and acting polite and mixing drinks, just like I was supposed to. And when I heard my name—my _real_ name, not April—I didn't run. No, I didn't run away this time. I froze. It was like my bones had been replaced with ice, unable to thaw and unable to move.

"May, is that you?"

I wanted to throw up again. And when I managed to turn around and look at the man calling my name, I thought I might. My stomach churned, and my head felt a bit woozy. And, although I didn't want to admit it, it was more than just horror at seeing the man that made me feel like this. Because when he smiled like he was the happiest person in the world, I just felt worse.

He brushed his silver hair out of his eyes, evacuating the barstool on which he had just sat and staring at me with that stupid smile. The light in his eyes, which were just as silver as his hair, couldn't be missed. And even though it had been years since I last saw him, when his face brightened, he lost all those years.

"May. Oh, May…" he said, as if saying my name enough times might make me react the way he obviously wanted me to. I was just staring at him, my dark eyes not at all lit the same way his were. I couldn't even smile. Because the second I looked at him, I remembered why I left, and I left to forget.

When one of my other customers called out to me, I turned my back on Steven Stone. But as I turned around, my fingers lingering for just a second too long on the counter, I felt a cool hand slip over mine. I stopped, my gaze snapping back to meet Steven's. The light hadn't quite left his eyes, but he certainly looked confused.

"May, it's me. It's Steven. Steven Stone," he said, as if I had just forgotten him. I wished it was that easy.

"I know who you are," I snapped, pulling my hand out from under his and turning my attention to the customer who actually needed me. When I looked up from the drink I was pouring, Steven was standing behind the customer. I narrowed my eyes as I slid the drink forward and placed the vodka back on my shelves of liquor.

"Hey, can we _talk_?" Steven asked when I turned my back on him again.

I slammed a martini glass onto the counter, thankful when it didn't break. "Order something or leave."

"May…"

I turned back to Steven, who had plopped himself back onto a different seat at the bar, and leaned across the counter until I was just a couple of inches away from his face. "_Order something or leave_," I hissed, enunciating each syllable so clearly that there was no possible way he couldn't have understood me.

I was hoping he would get fed up with me and just leave. The way his eyes narrowed after I snapped at him told me that he was definitely getting pissed. But instead of getting back up and walking out of the restaurant, he folded his hands together and smiled. I had the slightest urge to punch him in the face.

"Fine," he said shortly. "Just so you know, this is going to be a long night."

* * *

He stayed until two in the morning when I was done for the night. No one ever stayed until two in the morning except kids celebrating their legalization—who, admittedly, was me when I became legal. But Steven was the last one in the restaurant, and when my manager kicked him out at two on the dot, he waited outside for me to come out.

This would have been completely sketchy had I not known him, but I considering kicking him in the groin anyway.

"May, please talk to me," he said, as clearly as if he hadn't just had four drinks—and I had been overly generous with the liquor. "We _need_ to talk."

"We don't _need_ to do anything," I disagreed, walking past him as if I didn't see him. The fact that I responded to him, though, kind of messed that act up. And when I acknowledged him by responding, he quickened his pace so he was in line with me, walking so close to me that my arm almost bumped his.

I couldn't tell if he noticed that I was holding my breath.

"You left without saying goodbye, May—to anyone." It was an accurate accusation, so I didn't say anything. "Do you know how _awful_ that was? Do you have any idea how worried everyone was about you? I had people coming to my _door_ asking if I knew where you were. Even your parents came to me. Do you know how that felt—assuring them that you were okay? Because I didn't have a clue whether you were okay or not. To be honest, I still don't."

Worried? _Worried_? People were _worried_ about me? Why were people worried about me when the only person we needed to have worried about was dead—and not a single person cared to worry when he was alive? I wanted to laugh out of pure spite.

"Sorry that you had to clean up my mess, then, Steven," I apologized, although ice laced itself to my tone, and the words were not apologetic at all.

Steven took a step ahead of me and cut me off. I stopped just before I bumped into him, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. Even though it had been six years, I was still a head shorter than he was. I couldn't imagine how much shorter I had been before now. Or maybe he had grown—though, between twenty-one and twenty-seven, I didn't think men did much growing.

"I don't care about the mess." He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "You just scared me, you know, leaving like that—just after your friend died. Everyone was thinking the same thing."

"What, that I died, too? Sorry to disappoint you."

I walked around him, but he caught my arm and spun me back around. There was a fire in his eyes that was much different than the light they normally gave off.

"Don't you say that," he snapped. I raised my eyebrows; he had never used such a dark tone with me before. "Don't you dare say that."

I stared at him for several seconds, slightly agape, before tugging my arm away from him. "Sorry." I rubbed my arm where he had held me. "I didn't mean that."

Steven nodded, the corners of his mouth moving upward in an attempt to smile at me, but it ended up looking more like a grimace than anything. "I know. I was just…" He paused, as if trying to search for the right words. I couldn't help but be slightly disappointed by the ones he chose. "_We_ were all really scared that something happened to you."

I nodded. "Yeah." I gestured to my apartment building—thank goodness I lived so close to the restaurant, or this walk home would have been awkward _and_ long. "Well, that's my place."

"May…"

"Go home and tell everyone that I'm okay," I said, and Steven frowned again.

"I would," he replied hesitantly, "but I would be lying."

* * *

I thought about what he said all night, and when I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of the people I had left behind in Hoenn. It was more a nightmare than anything else, but I slept a solid fourteen hours, which was better than I had slept in a long time. It was a good thing that I didn't have to work today, or I would have been late.

I was, however, late for meeting with Steven. I had agreed to go out to dinner with him and "talk", with the promise that he wouldn't pry into anything I didn't want to discuss. That really put the ball in my court, and even though it should have made me feel more comfortable, it didn't. Because I didn't want to talk at all.

When my intercom buzzed, I groaned, rolling out of bed and tripping my way over to it. "Steven?"

"Hey, May," his voice greeted, and I felt a little nauseous again. It was easy to convince myself that it was my nerves about meeting with him again.

"Um, bad news." I glanced down at myself; my pajamas weren't exactly appropriate for a nice dinner, and I doubted my hair looked much better. "I just woke up. Any chance we could postpone this for an hour?"

This was followed with silence—for whatever reason, I felt like Steven was down there laughing at me. At least he was nice enough not to press the call button while he did so. And when he finally did, he had composed himself enough that I couldn't even tell he had been laughing. "Sure. Want me to come back?"

How polite of him. Geez. I really wanted to stay mad at him. "No, no, that's okay," I said. "I'll come to you."

"All right." Steven sounded unsure, but apparently he was rolling with it. "Just ask for me at the front desk, okay?" That was pretty easy. Considering there was only one hotel in Pewter City, I didn't need any more direction than that. So, I agreed, and we said our goodbyes until later.

I didn't know why, but when I got ready, I went all out. I washed _and_ conditioned my hair, which was an amazing feat all on its out. I even wore makeup, and not just the makeup I slathered on for work, but makeup that was actually classy and pretty. And when I looked in the mirror, I actually liked my reflection.

And I hadn't in a long time.

* * *

Steven wanted me to come up to his room. That was what the concierge told me to do, at least. And when I rode the elevator up to the presidential suite (why did Steven even need that much space just for him?) and knocked on the door, he didn't seem the least bit surprised to see me standing there. He just smiled and opened the door wider to let me in.

"You look really nice," he told me, and I blushed.

Wait, _blushed_? I got told I looked nice all the time at worked by drunk guys and the occasional drunk girl, and I certainly didn't blush. But some guy who I once knew who, sure, was really good-looking and nice and actually acted like he cared about me—he made me blush? No, no, no. Steven Stone meant nothing to me. I left him behind, too.

"Thanks," I said anyway.

Steven shuffled uncomfortably, and I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing. "Are you all set, or do you want a drink or something?"

"Let's just go," I said.

And so we went. He took me to the nicest restaurant in Pewter—which definitely wasn't the restaurant I worked out—and let me get anything I wanted with the assurance that he would pay no matter what the price. I felt bad, so I just got a bowl of pasta. He let me have a bite of his seafood medley, though.

I never had such a nice night. Ever. _Ever_. And when he said we were going to talk, we talked about everything but what I knew he wanted to talk about. He asked me about my job and how long I had worked there. He asked me why I chose to live in Pewter and how long I planned on staying here. Forever, until I found a different job, just until I got bored?

He asked me if I had a boyfriend. The answer was obviously no.

I didn't get a chance to ask very many questions, but I wouldn't know what to ask, anyway. I supposed I could ask about my parents or about what changes had been made to the Elite Four in the past six years. But I didn't want to know because I didn't want to care, just like no one wanted to care about me.

Except Steven.

And when he asked me to come back with him, I agreed.

* * *

Oh, it was purely platonic. He was a gentleman. We originally started back for my apartment, but I told him that he wouldn't want to come in because my heat had been turned off—and, as friends, I would _have_ to invite him in. So, he suggested that I spend the night in one of his spare rooms in his presidential suite.

Who was I to say no to an offer like that?

He broke out a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses and sat down with me at the table in his kitchen—a full kitchen in a hotel! We talked just like we had back at the restaurant for awhile. I didn't know how long.

And then he asked the question I dreaded most:

"Why did you leave?"

"I had to," I said simply, sadly.

"But why?"

"Because of… because I had to," I said again, clenching my fists just a little bit. "You don't get it. I couldn't stay there anymore. Hoenn didn't have a place for me. I mean… if I could change everything—if I could do it all over again, I would do it all so differently. I would never have become a trainer."

Steven looked surprisingly hurt by my comments. "You wouldn't? Even if it meant never meeting any of the people you met on your journey?"

Which included Steven.

I nodded. "I couldn't. So, that's why I left. I wanted to make it like I had never been there at all, and it had been going _so_ nicely for me. Until you showed up, and everything came rushing back to me. I don't _want_ to remember."

I could feel myself growing frustrated with him. This was why I didn't want to talk. I knew I would get angry and sad and frustrated. Everything that I felt when Wally died came flooding back to me, and I never wanted to feel that way again. But here I was, angry with myself all over again. And angry with Steven for making me remember.

"May… I know your friend's death must have been hard, but—"

And there it was. The same speech that everyone gave.

"He was dying, and I let him! My best friend _died_ because I encouraged him to battle!" I yelled, picking up one of the tacky vases from Steven's table and smashing it on the ground, as if that would get my point across. And once I heard it shatter on the floor, I couldn't stop. I picked up every other item in the room—the wine glasses, the bottle of wine itself—that would break and threw them all, watching each and every fragile piece explode.

And when I ran out of things to throw, I collapsed to the floor. Though tears bubbled in my eyes, I didn't cry. I just felt so _tired_—so, so tired, which didn't make sense considering I slept so much last night. I wanted to just fall asleep on the floor right there and sleep forever. But when Steven's hand rested on my shoulder, I had a feeling that I wasn't going to get to sleep.

I was wrong. He scooped me up into his arms and slid me under the covers of one of the beds in the suite. I rolled over onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut and clutching the pillow under my head so tightly that I could swear I felt it ripping.

The last thing I heard before I succumbed to sleep was the sound of Steven cleaning up all the things I broke—cleaning up the mess I left, just like always.

* * *

He should have been angry with me. He had every right to be. When I woke up and walked out into the kitchen—wiped clean; the wine hadn't stained the tile, thank goodness—Steven was sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. I took every step cautiously, worried that just the sound of my feet hitting the floor would set him off.

But he just looked up at me and smiled sadly, the light in his eyes duller than I had ever seen it. And when I saw how dull it was, how pained he looked to be staring at me, I finally started to cry. In seconds, I had two miniature waterfalls streaming down my cheeks, and my breath caught awkwardly in my throat.

He rose to his feet, and I ran towards him, wrapping my arms around him and sobbing into his chest. He was so warm and so strong and so _gentle_. Without skipping a beat, he rubbed my back and whispered sweet words into my hair, his lips so soft against my head. But I didn't care how it felt—I cared about the words.

He didn't lie. He didn't tell me it was going to be all right. Instead, he said, "Please, May. Just don't run away this time."

But how could I when the first place I ever felt so safe was between a rock and a hard place? Between Steven Stone's arms, the only thing that could break down my fortress and my castle walls.

* * *

"What's with all the balloons?"

Liam slid into his favorite barstool, the one closest to the center of the bar where he could keep a particularly close eye on me. But today, he was staring at all of the balloons tied to the ends of the bar. That had been my manager's idea. I thought it was sweet of her considering how much trouble I had given her while I worked here.

"Today is my last day," I told Liam, and he looked genuinely upset by my announcement. "I'm moving back to Hoenn at the end of this week."

He raised an eyebrow, tearing his gaze away from the balloons in order to give me the stink eye. I stifled a laugh. In all honesty, I would miss Liam and his annoying flirting. "Moving to Hoenn? What, you got a man or something?" he demanded, and I really did start laughing then. Of course that would be the first thing he asked.

"Actually, I do." I glanced over at the door as it burst open, letting in a cool breeze of air. "There he is right now. He's helping me pack."

Liam's jaw just about dropped to the floor. He stared at Steven with more admiration than he ever stared at with me. "Ste-Steven-Ste… Steven St—holy _crap_, it's—"

"Hi," I said to Steven as he sat down at the seat beside Liam. I didn't know if he just didn't notice Liam drooling on him or if he chose to ignore him. But Liam was having a major breakdown beside him, so I had to guess it was the latter. I didn't know how it was possible to miss the heart attack happening right there.

Steven had generously warned my family about my return home. It had taken him a year to convince me to leave here, but between doing the long distance relationship and taking control of my emotions, I decided it was best for me to return home. It would be tough, but Steven had been really helpful.

And Wally would want me back.

"Hey," Steven replied, and I could tell he could barely hide his laughter now. His eyes kept shifting towards Liam.

"You and _Steven Stone_?" Liam finally spat out, and I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing. "Well, geez, I can't compete with that."

Truth was, Steven wouldn't have to compete with anyone. Because even while I was gone, he never stopped caring when I thought everyone had. Even I had stopped caring. He came around just in time to make me try again.

And finally, there was a reason for me to care.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Liam learned how to flirt from Brock. That's why he was so successful with May.

Also, Steven's attitude when May tells him to order something or leave is completely "Challenge Accepted".

And has anyone noticed that all of my fanfics featuring Steven are always so long? XD


End file.
